


Gravity

by petitegateau



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitegateau/pseuds/petitegateau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gravity is working against me.<br/>And gravity wants to bring me down.</p><p>*GOKUDERA CENTRIC*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from Lunaescence archives; one of my personal favorites.

  
Gokudera sits alone in the darkness of his bedroom, first few buttons of his shirt undone and his tie loosened as a cloud of smoke blooms to life and hangs around his head. Jaded green eyes stare into the distance, taking nothing in particular. The end of the cigarette between his lips glows angrily and cuts through the gloom and as he takes a drag.  
  
He...has a lot to think about. As much as he would like to push the thoughts aside and continue on with his life, he's found that they've become far too heavy for him to ignore for another minute, let alone another year.  
  
A small amount of smoldering ash falls on his hand, burning him and jolting him from his stupor. Gokudera curses–everything...himself. God, he's so _fucking stupid_.  
  
For as long as he's known Tsuna, he's taken pride in his devotion to his boss. He's stood by his side no matter the cost and supported him in every decision. Tsuna had given him so much–somewhere to belong. Someone to believe in. Someone to admire. And this is how he was repaying him?  
  
Gokudera groans and drops his face into his hand. His shoulders hitch; his free hand clenches into a fist and it takes everything within him to not hit something. He hates himself _so much_ right now. So damn much. How could he let his happen?  
  
He wants to stop himself every time his thoughts turns in (Y/n)'s direction. She's Tsuna's wife, of all people. And to take matters worse, he himself is engaged. But he thinks about what it would be like to feel her lips on his and that leads to him thinking about what it would be like to pull her so close to him that the heat from his body melts her to him from the inside out. What would it be like to peel her clothes her body and kiss every dip and curve in sight. To lay her down, slide over her, show her things she's never thought possible and make her body hum in a symphony conducted by his hands and his mouth and his hips.  
  
And the next thing he knows, it's three in the morning, and he's drunk and out of his mind, and he wants her so bad his body is aching and she's on the receiving end of his phone call and he's so out of his mind there's no filter and he's telling her _everything_ and how he wants to love her....and she's silent.  
  
“ _You're drunk, Hayato. You're not yourself_.” And she's almost begging him to take back what he's said because: “ _You're my husband's best friend. You can't–we can't. Hayato, this is wrong_.”  
  
But he wants her so bad.  
  
“ _Where's_ –”  
  
She's sleeping in the other room. She's no you.  
  
And she's begging him to “ _Shut the hell up_!” He doesn't mean any of this. “ _It's the alcohol talking_!”  
  
But no, it's not. He can come over and show her. Show her everything–  
  
The last thing he hears before the line goes dead is the sound of her muffling her sobs.  
  
And here he is three days later. He hates himself so. Fucking. Much. He can't look at his reflection. He can't look into his fiancee's eyes. He can't look into Tsuna's and he sure as hell can't look into (Y/n)'s eyes.  
  
Gokudera's up on his feet in a flash, raking his hands through his hair and pacing the bedroom. How could he let himself get that drunk? How could he let himself go that far? He'd been out of line. So far out of line. He'd over-stepped boundaries that were practically sacred to him. He thinks he's going to be sick to his stomach; the guilt is eating away at his insides like acid. It's crippling. He grips the edge of the bed and stays still.  
  
The first step to overcoming a problem is admitting it. Okay. He has a problem. There it is. He's in a committed relationship and even so, he wants nothing more than to spend a few endless nights tangled up in a bed with his _boss' and best friend's wife_.  
  
But no, it's not just about sex. It's never been just about sex. She's the perfect woman. Beautiful and intelligent and nurturing and loving– _gorgeous_ with legs that go on for miles and a smile that makes his heart stop. So funny and articulate and strong and steadfast in _everything_ she believes in. Selfless and upright and so _devoted to her husband_. And he _wants her more than he's ever wanted anyone or anything ever before_.  
  
Oh, yeah. He's sick. Without a doubt he's sick.  
  
He puts the cigarette out and heads for the liquor cabinet.  
  
No. His steps falter. That's what got him here.  
  
But he needs a fix–anything–so bad right now. One glass shouldn't hurt. One glass wouldn't hurt. But he doesn't drink one glass. He drinks half a bottle of aged brandy and he's lying in bed, feeling like hell through and through. His body is protesting, and so is his heart.  
  
“....the hell am I doing...?”  
  
No one answers, of course. So Gokudera pulls his blanket over his face and he sleeps.  
  
And he sleeps.  
  
And he sleeps.  
  
For days, he doesn't move for anything other than to light a cigarette and get more booze. His fiancée is worried out of her mind. He can't bring himself to care. This is _his_ twisted catharsis and he's going to reach a place of reconciliation through any means he see fit.  
  
“ _You're killing yourself_!”  
  
He sure as hell feels like it. He eventually can't even lift his head from his pillow. The days blur together at the edges in his world of perpetual darkness. He thought he was getting better. He only feels worse. Maybe he's not trying hard enough.  
  


“ _This isn't want I want for you!_ ”

Light shears through the safe place he's created for himself and sears away the darkness. A familiar voice meets him through the haze of his mind, and what it does to his body is nothing in comparison to what the days and nights of alcohol drinking has managed to do–the damage it's managed to wreak. Because for her to seem him like this–it's the last thing he could ever want. He thought he felt like he was dying before. God, that was nothing.

He hears more voices. Probably the other guardians. She tells them to stay away–that she's got this under control. He hears crying. But all he cares about is the scent of her perfume filling the empty recesses of his mind.

He hears her curse. She throws something across the room–he would later learn that she'd thrown her heels so that she could have an easier time dragging him out of the bed and into the shower.

His face meets the bottom of the tub. A second later, water, like ice cold needles, is stabbing into him through his clothes.

“ _Why would you do something like this_?”

He loves her so much and he knows it's wrong and it makes him hate himself. He'd hurt her. He'd made her cry.

“ _You need to snap out of this! You're better than this!_ ”

Is he, really?

When she squeezes into the tub with him, clothes and all, he cracks his bleary eyes open. She's hunched above him, rivulets of freezing water dripping from the soaked ends of her ringlets and into his face. She pulls his head into her lap, the sides of his face cradled softly in her hands. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

He's so sick....

“Hayato....” She pulls his wet hair back from his brow and and place a single lingering kiss there. “Oh, Hayato. You're so stupid....”

He's never been one for tears. He's never been one for weakness.

He realizes that as much as he wants to, he can't fight his feelings for her. It devastates him.

His hands cover her own and he cries for the first time in years.

* * *


End file.
